Voices
by Rasberry Parfait
Summary: But to that Voice, it wouldn’t matter what anyone thought of him. It didn’t matter what his family thought, what all of Narnia thought, and it didn’t matter what Aslan thought. Even if they had forgotten, Edmund couldn’t. Oneshot.


Voices

A/N: This came out a lot more melodramatic than I initially intended.

But I still kind of like it.

Basically, it's a oneshot six years after The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. Edmund is sixteen and is having a ton of trouble forgiving himself for betraying his family and siding with the White Witch, despite the fact that he's totally reformed and everything.

If anybody reading this is still waiting for the sequel to "Like a Lost Puppy," don't worry, I'm working on it. I just really need a quick break from it right now.

Rated K+ for some alcohol later on.

Review!

Disclaimer: Dude, I so wish I owned the Chronicles of Narnia. But I don't. I don't even know who does own them. But I know it isn't me.

Voices

How he _hated _that Voice.

Every time he made a mistake, even an innocent one, a victimless one, that Voice was there, whispering to him. "You see?" it would say. "Look at what you've done this time. That's you. That's who you are, isn't it?"

He would have no choice to agree. After all, the Voice was his own. It was him saying that, and he knew himself better than anyone.

And when he did something right, it was almost worse. He would feel a brief, very brief moment of happiness, and then it was gone with the Voice. "That doesn't prove anything," it reminded him in its soft, but ice cold way. "That doesn't change anything. That doesn't make it alright."

And then he would sink back into that chasm, the abyss in which he lived, every moment. Not every waking moment. In his sleep, as well. It haunted him. In his dreams, he saw himself, six years younger, making the same mistakes, exactly as it had actually happened, being just as cruel as he was convinced was his nature, all while the Voice gave commentary. "Tsk, tsk." It would say. "You were so cruel to your sister. Really. And think, what if your plan had succeeded? What if they had believed you and not Lucy? You wouldn't be alive right now. None of you would."

And then he would wake up in a cold sweat, those words echoing in his head. And for one moment, he would wish that they _had _followed him. Then he wouldn't have to live like this. He wouldn't have to live at all. Anything was better than this life, if it could really even be called that.

But then the Voice would pipe up.

"But that would mean that they wouldn't be alive, either." It would point out gleefully. "So selfish, Edmund."

And waves of guilt would wash over him again.

"I'm a terrible person." He would mutter miserably as he tried not to fall back asleep. He didn't deserve to sleep. It wasn't quite as bad when he wasn't conscious.

"Disgusting," the Voice would agree cheerfully.

"I'm still half asleep," he would point out tiredly. "I'm not thinking straight."

"Yes, Edmund." The Voice would agree. "But it is now when your thoughts aren't controlled. They aren't guarded. This when your thoughts are pure. The most reflective of the person that you are. When will you face it? You are inherently a horrible person."

He would frown at that. Because he believed it.

He woke up every morning dreading having to look in the morning. He detested his reflection. He detested himself.

The Voice detested him, too.

Of course, he didn't outwardly show how unhappy he was. After all, his siblings didn't bring it up anymore. They hadn't at all, not since that day when he'd come back, not since the day of the battle. Not once. They had all forgiven him, and he knew it, and that just made things worse. He didn't deserve their forgiveness. He didn't deserve anyone's forgiveness-not that of his family, not that of the Narnians and especially, _especially_ not the forgiveness of Aslan. They were too good, all of them. He couldn't possibly go by what any of them thought of him. And he couldn't talk to them about this, anyway. After all, he deserved this. And they didn't. He could see the concern that would be in their eyes, he saw what their expressions would be if he told them. They didn't need that. They deserved to be happy.

So he kept it to himself, and rightfully so, as the Voice told him.

They noticed, of course. They saw how his smiles never quite met his eyes, how he would always stop laughing just a second too soon. But they had no idea what the cause was, or how to help.

The Narnians had all long forgotten Edmund's alliance with the White Witch. They had seen how he had fought to overthrow her, and they held him in the same regard that they did the rest of the Royal Family. But there were some in other nearby lands that did not.

And unfortunately, it was sometimes necessary to invite some of those people to banquets.

It was on one such night that Edmund finally snapped.

He tried not to blame to man. He really tried not to be upset by him.

For one thing, he'd met this particular Lord several times before, and was used to the way he spoke to him-there was a subtle hint of patronization in his voice when his words directed at Edmund, as though he didn't think Edmund was a _real _king, but wasn't going to say so out loud. It was forward enough that Edmund knew it was intentional, but just subtle enough that he really couldn't have him arrested for it, or even retaliate in any way. Not that he would have, if he could have-the Voice always agreed with the man. Edmund always believed he deserved it.

But even the Voice had to admit it was getting old.

For another, the man was drunk. He had no idea what he was saying, and probably wouldn't remember it in the morning, but then again, being drunk was often like being half-asleep-it was when one's true thoughts were exposed. The difference was that when you were half-asleep, your true thoughts were exposed to yourself, and when you were drunk, they were exposed to everyone else.

Edmund was the only one standing near enough to hear what the Lord and his companions were saying. Everybody else was avoiding them, as Edmund had been, when he had chanced to walk by them and hear his name being spoken, followed by laughter.

Edmund couldn't comprehend what they were saying. He only got a few words and phrases here and there-"liar," "traitor," "people never change," and a lot of laughter.

The Voice laughed, high and cold.

He pushed past the man, uttering an "Excuse me" as he made his way toward the door.

The man screamed something after him, but Edmund ignored him. He rushed out of the Castle and into the cool evening air and breathed, attempting to preserve the façade he had so desperately been clinging to for the past six years. That things weren't quite as bad with him as they had seemed. No, that night, he could feel the full truth. Things were _worse _than they had seemed. How he hated himself.

He kicked the wall of the castle in his frustration and hurt his foot.

"Idiot." The Voice snapped at him.

He sat down and leaned against the wall, tilting his head back and trying desperately to try and forget everything, forget himself and just not think at all for as long as he was able. He would have been happy just to keep from crying. The Voice continued berating him. "You are so weak," it hissed, sounding uncharacteristically hostile.

He heard a noise and his eyes snapped open as he reached for his sword instinctively.

"Oh." He breathed, trying to compose himself. "Aslan. Hello."

"Hello, Son of Adam." Aslan said pleasantly, sitting down next to him. "What is troubling you?"

"Nothing." Edmund mumbled weakly, still attempting to keep up his charade.

Aslan gave him a look that was the opposite of the voice. The voice was, with the exception of tonight, high and soft and gentle sounding, with a sharp edge to it, an underlying ice to it. Aslan's expression was stern and strong, meant to remind Edmund exactly who he was speaking to, but at the same time gentle, with no ill will at all.

Edmund didn't respond. He should have known that Aslan would know whether he spoke or not.

"This has been bothering you for quite some time, has it not?" Aslan asked him.

"Yes." Edmund whispered emotionlessly, staring straight ahead with glazed over eyes, as though he was not really seeing the scenery in front of him, even if he was looking in that particular direction.

"Edmund," Aslan said. "It has been long enough. You must learn to let go."

"But Aslan, I did a horrible thing! What if-"

"There was a reason that I gave myself to the White Witch in your place, Edmund." Aslan said quietly.

That when Edmund realized.

The voice wasn't his at all. It was _hers. _

And for the first time in six years, Edmund experienced absolute, total silence. The voice was gone.

A/N: In case you didn't get it, the voice was that of the White Witch.

Also, if you're wondering, the fact the word is "voiced" is capitalized every time except the last two times it's used is not a mistake. It's symbolic of how the voice-which is just a subconscious representation of his own guilt-no longer has any power over him. Just thought I'd throw that out there.

What did you think? Too angsty? Review and let me know!


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